


lipstick coffee

by Utopiste



Series: "coven" is just a fancy word for gay witch sorority [4]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Everyone lives, F/F, Madison being terrible at flirting, Mild Sexual Content, More Gratuitous Mean Girls references, Violet is Zoe's twin and she's edgy, Zoe being terrible at... Life, Zoe thinks we don't see her referencing musicals like a classic gay, finally wrote the follow up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 21:52:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16731294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Utopiste/pseuds/Utopiste
Summary: “Hey,” she says gloomily. “One Iced Coffee, please.”“It’s the sixth cup of coffee I serve you,” Madison says. “Just so you know, more than four cups a day is seriously bad for your health. And pretty addictive too. Your teeth could rot right out of your pretty mouth, and then how are you gonna give head?”“I asked for Iced Coffee, not judgment,” Zoe says.In which Zoe craves caffeine and Madison craves her attention, and all of their friends are tired of their gay drama.





	lipstick coffee

**Author's Note:**

> ao3 crashed twice after i spent one hour minutes correcting this and i started crying. this is the fruit of my labor and tears
> 
> this is also the follow up to morning pretender!! yup finally 
> 
> the title is still from the same song, Lipstick Coffee by League

**august.**

It is pathetic how quickly Zoe develops a crush on her new barista.

Not on the guy, of course, even though they are really hitting it off - which is always nice because, as she learned back in Los Angeles, waiter friends means free coffee - and not even on the no-bullshit black girl she saw take down a rude customer in two snarky comments, because Zoe’s life is not that easy. No, she decides to fall head over heels for the rude, misanthropic, generally unpleasant alpha bitch blonde.

(She calls her sister to tell her about it, and she just snorts, calls her a useless lesbian, and hangs up on her to go to some photo exhibit about death or nihilism or black and white depressing pictures of dead birds, make your pick. It's so typically Violet it makes Zoe ache for home.)

When she first meets her, it is impossibly hot outside, a weather so summery and pleasant people hide swimwear under their clothing, which is offensive when classes start up again in two weeks, especially since Zoe already has to be back in the city for her part-time job. She gets into the coffee shop near campus praying for iced coffee, water and maybe even air-conditioning. Her black overalls rest heavy on her body, her shirt underneath already halfway drenched in sweat. She thought braiding her hair would help her with the warmth somehow, but she was wrong, and after two hours of tutoring middle-schoolers before they get back to class, her braid is half undone. In short, she looks disgusting. She _feels_ disgusting.

Considering the smirk that accompanies the long once-over that blonde waitress behind the counter gives her, that feeling is shared.

Zoe is bad at many things, including talking to pretty girls, beer pong and feeling judged, and so she considers heading out of the café immediately. But there is _air-conditioning_ here, iced coffee too, plus a mean waitress shouldn’t run her out of her favorite place to study in in the entire city. Her father keeps saying she should stand up for herself, after all. And he is a therapist, so he is doubly qualified to give her advice.

So instead of leaving, she walks up to the counter with as little gloom as she can - which is still a lot - and tries, awkwardly, to get the barista’s attention again.

“Hi?” she tries.

“Hey,” the blonde says. She is leaning backward on the shelves, inspecting her nails, looking bored. “Can you back off from the counter a little? I’m pretty sure you’re sweating all over our oak, and the powers that be will bust my ass for not cleaning that.”

“Oh, uh, right,” Zoe says. “Can I have one Iced Coffee? To go?”

The girl sighs as she gets off from the wall like Zoe is single-handedly ruining her life, one drink at a time, which is ridiculous, since she is already busy ruining her own life, thank you very much. She says the price, Zoe nods and pays with her hard-earned money, and then there is another awkward silence as she makes her drink, the rest of the coffee shop only being inhabited by two other kids - being right next to campus, most of their customers will arrive when classes start up again, in Zoe’s experience.

She is perfectly ready to watch the people outside from behind the window - this city is always wandered in by the strangest people - but terrifying barista girl speaks up again.

“So what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” she drawls.

Zoe looks at her blankly. Frowns. “I’m getting coffee?” she says, hating how she sounds like she is asking the other girl. “It’s a coffee shop?”

“Yeah, you don’t _say_ ,” weird-but-terrifying barista girl says and rolls her eyes with extra sarcasm. “I meant, like - it’s something people say to - you know what, nevermind, here’s your dumb coffee and your change, please use it to buy yourself clothes that don’t come from a nineties thrift shop, bye.”

Zoe stands for a bit too long with her eyes wide open in surprise even as the other girl leaves for the back room. As soon as she gets over herself, she grabs her drink and flees.

She only realizes once at home that she forgot her change at the coffee shop, and, three weeks later, that Madison is that rude with absolutely everyone - _lovely_ _little old ladies, hot gym guys, puppies,_ Kyle says, and looks behind him nervously as if she was to appear out of nowhere to shame him, jack-in-the-box style. Zoe wouldn’t put it past her. It is only after these three weeks and his explanation that she returns to being a regular patron at Coven Café.

Their Iced Coffee is just that damn good.

 

**october.**

“Hi Madison!” Zoe says with a smile just a little too bright for six in the morning. To be fair, it is a very nice morning: the room is filled with a subdued light, the sky is clear, birds are chirping like they are about to help some girl put on her glass slipper - usually Madison looks like that girl, perfect blonde hair and perfect pale face and all, except more punk rock.

Not this morning. Today Madison glares at her, lidded eyes underlined by dark circles, visibly hungover, before she says, enunciating very deliberately, “ _Fuck off_.”

Zoe freezes, smile unchanging on her face, then turns around and flees.

 _well mark me down as scared and horny,_ she texts Nan with no context.

 

**october, take 2.**

Other people at the counter chatter and chuckle, but Zoe stays standing and silent and stares at her Iced Coffee cup. The cup stares back. It is filled to the brim with a steaming, fluffy white cream that is _definitely_ not Iced Coffee.  She is pretty sure it is daunting her.

She knows what she has to do; she just needs to psych herself up to the task.

“Hi, Madison,” Zoe tries. It comes out sounding like a question.

The waitress swirls around all too slowly for a day as busy as this one - it is two in the afternoon, which is when most of the students with morning classes come in to use and abuse Coven Coffee’s free wifi and pretend to be productive. She advances towards her, dark eyes and dangerous scowl and whirling blonde hair coming out of her pseudo professional bun, and Zoe has to stop texting Nan about being terrified and aroused at the same time but that means she would have to stop seeing Madison altogether. 

“Hi, Zadie,” Madison says, then, somehow making it sound like a threat, “anything I can do for you?”

“Um,” Zoe starts, “yeah, actually. I asked for an Iced Coffee? And, this isn’t it, so?”

Madison looks at her like she is stupid. “Are you sure?”

“Well,” Zoe looks back down at her cup, creamy and warm. “You know what? Nevermind. That’s good too. Have a nice day.”

She runs away so fast she almost imagines a spark of disappointment in Madison’s eyes. Once again, here she goes, confusing her gaydar with her please-be-gaydar.

 

**october, take 3.**

It is one of these last good days before fall collapses into winter and seasonal depression kicks. Zoe had a reasonably nice morning: she called her sister, she tried very hard to pay attention in her lecture even though Nan was texting her about sitting next to her crush at the library, she read an interesting biography of Cleopatra in between some ill-scheduled classes. She knows Madison is waitressing right now and until the shop closes, but she feels ready to face her. She refuses to stay away from caffeine because she is scared of and/or crushing on a girl who oozes old-school _Heathers_ vibes. She is doing it, she is coming in, she is standing at the oak counter, she is waiting in line and fiddling with her plaid shirt sleeves.

If Madison is Heather Chandler, then it makes her Veronica - way too invested in her for it to be platonic and full of antagonistic sexual tension (or maybe Zoe's understanding of the movie was a little biased, who knows?). She can practically picture Madison drawling _fuck me gently with a chainsaw, do I look like I'm Mother Theresa?_ or _I use my grand IQ to decide what lip gloss to wear in the morning and how to hit three keggers before curfew_.

“Hello you weirdo, why are you chuckling like this?” Madison cuts, startling her. “Did they finally elect you mayor of Dorksville?”

“Is it me or are your insults getting more elaborate every time we talk?”

“What do you know, it takes work to let everyone know I’m better than them,” Madison says, smiling her service-job-smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Hum, one Iced Coffee, please,” she answers, enunciating, even though she always, always takes the same drink.

“Great, Zachary,” Madison says, then takes the bills Zoe is handing her and fiddles with the cash register for a minute before she raises her head again. “You’re still here. Is that all?”

“Yep, that’s all. An _Iced_ Coffee. All it is,” Zoe says, as she smiles and goes to the other end of the counter.

It is just a coincidence if whenever Madison is serving her, she doesn’t take out her book to get some reading done while she waits. It has nothing to do with shiny blonde hair being swept to the side as she works the coffee maker or the way she scrunches up her nose when the machine doesn’t cooperate or manicured fingers clicking and pushing its buttons. Madison is an off-putting, aloof person with serious issues when it comes to not getting what she wants; the way she glares at the device when it doesn’t obey her wouldn’t be considered cute by anyone, ever, but Zoe is a desperate cause.

She is so distracted by not staring moon-eyed at Regina Georges 2.0 that she doesn’t even notice Madison is making something that is definitely not iced and probably not coffee until she slides her cup to her. She glowers at it, looks back at Madison, who is already taking care of three other hipster girls in beanies and plaids, almost talks, ends up sighing and going back to her seat.

There is a good one hour of studying going on with her Economical Crises Through the Ages course before Kyle shows up to help Madison at the counter, but not before flopping down on the chair next to her.

“Hey, that’s a cup still half full,” he says and beams at her.

“More like half empty,” she says. “God, why are Economical Crises so depressing? I sort of want to shoot myself right now. Or shoot bankers. All of them.”

“Capitalism,” Kyle says wisely. “So glad I chose Engineering right now.”

“Oh right, because Engineering is full of sunshine and smiles and equal pay.  Hey, how’s your college debt going?”

Kyle laughs. “Rude. Fair, but still. Anyway, since we’re working into college debt, I have a nice job serving alumni kids their chai tea, so,” he says as he gets up.

She goes back to her notes, but instead of leaving, he pauses and looks with amusement at her cup again. “Hey, you know she’s getting your order wrong on purpose, right?”

“What?” Zoe says, dumbfounded.

“Madison,” he specifies. “She knows you only like iced coffee. She’s just serving you hot chocolate because she’s, well, Madison. Pulling pigtails, all that.”

“Oh,” Zoe says softly.

Like she has some magical gift that makes her know they’re talking about her, the blonde chooses that moment to start complaining very loudly about Kyle's poor flirting techniques and even worse work ethics. He hurries back, not without turning around towards Zoe to hold finger guns to his head, because he has a death wish.

Ten minutes later, after processing, Zoe goes to the counter with her untouched cup and asks for an _iced coffee_ , receipt in hand, ready to go to war. But Madison smirks and says, “Took you long enough, you big baby, you know I don’t bite, do you?” and Zoe stares at her lips and can’t help but think _I bet you do_.

 

 **december**.

This is hell: Zoe is in hell. A caffeinated hell with jazzy background music, but hell nevertheless. Also known as finals week.

Flashcards are spread all over her table ( _her_ table; earlier today a red-headed girl tried to sit next to her and she snarled; she is not moving her cards for her or _anyone_ ) but the color code is all wrong. She never seems to find the one she needs when she has to, for some reason. Somehow her empty coffee cups are nowhere to be found even if she has been here for hours and gone through three - four - she doesn’t know how many cups. A lot. They are all gone. She suspects house-elves. One of her textbooks fell one hour ago and she still hasn’t picked it up. Just looking at her Ancient Chinese History 101 notebook lying there makes her feel like crying. The exam is in a week and she knows _nothing_.

She is going to fail and then she will be kicked out and her parents will be ashamed and Violet is going to have to be the pride of the family which she will hate and then her parents and Violet will hate _her_ and she’ll never become a teacher and she’ll have to try and get hired here to serve coffee to History students and steam and-

Alright. She is driving herself nuts. She needs to stop. To close her eyes, take a deep breath, and go get herself some more coffee. 

“Hey,” she says gloomily. Madison raises an eyebrow at her but says nothing, which must mean Zoe looks _very_ pathetic. “One more Mocha, please.”

“It’s the sixth cup of coffee I serve you,” Madison says.

“Yes, and I’ve paid every one of them so far, so,” Zoe says a bit more forcefully then she should have.

“Wow. If you weren’t a regular, I’d already have spit in your coffee,” Madison notes with pursed lips. Zoe doesn’t even have enough energy to look dreamily at her lips. That’s how tired she is.

“Sorry, it’s just-” Zoe starts, but doesn’t continue, not knowing what she meant to say.

“Yeah, finals week, I get it,” Madison says, then sighs and types at her cash register. “But just so you know, more than four cups a day is seriously bad for your health. And pretty addictive too. Your teeth could rot right out of your pretty mouth, and then how are you gonna give head?”

“I asked for Mocha, not judgment,” Zoe whines. She must imagine Madison smirking because she is sleep-deprived and delirious. She passes Madison her last dollars, allows herself to wallow for a second that not only is she failing, she is also _poor_. She blames December. Fuck December. Fuck December, Christmas presents and winter finals altogether wrapped in a neat little bow.

“Okay, sheesh, edgelord,” Madison says. “Go to your table, I’ll bring it to you when it’s done, you’re scaring other patrons away.”

“Right, because scaring patrons away is your job, sorry,” Zoe mutters - Madison snorts - she goes back to her table in the corner, feet dragging behind her, miserable. Time to go back to Italian and Mediaeval History then.

She begins reading a chapter for what feels like five minutes, but when she pulls herself out of it, half an hour later, her cup is filled to the brim already and there is a plate next to it. More specifically, there is a plate next to it, and on it stands a lone cinnamon cookie.

Zoe frowns at it for an entire minute.

Then she gets to the counter. “Madison?”

“Yes, Gollum?” Madison answers, drying some cups. She raises her head, and her dark eyes gleam like gemstones under the artificial lights.

“Hmm,” Zoe says eloquently. “There’s a cookie at my table.”

“Good to know.”

“No, I mean,” Zoe tries again. “There’s a cookie at my table and I definitely didn’t order a cookie.”

“What,” Madison says slowly. “Do you not _like_ cookies?”

“Of course I like cookies - what kind of monster doesn’t like _cookies_ \- I just mean - why is there a cookie at my table?”

“Oh,” Madison, and her shoulders sag. She smirks. Zoe’s already half-fried brain connects one last time to admire the sight of her lips curving before it shuts down again. “I don’t know. Must be a mistake. But well, you know what? Nobody asked after the cookie, and it’s not like I’m going to get it back on the counter after you touched it with your greasy weasel fingers, so, guess you should just eat it.”

Zoe remembers she hasn’t eaten since this morning. It is now three in the afternoon. She cannot deny this is very tempting. “But - I didn’t pay for it,” she tries again, weakly. “And I didn’t touch it.”

“How can I know you didn’t?” Madison shrugs. “It would be severely suspicious in terms of like, health violations and shit. I don’t know. I don’t care. You should eat it. Someone has to.”

“Why don’t _you_ , then?”

Madison is annoyed. She looks annoyed - well, twenty percent more annoyed than her usual level of annoyance, anyway. “Hum, hello, I’m on a diet? Do you think anyone can look this banging and not make any effort for it?” (Zoe never considered this.) “Look, Zoe, we can stay here and argue about it all you want, or you can trust the cookie gods, which are all-knowing and benevolent, and eat your fucking cookie, and leave me alone.”

Zoe raises her hand in the air and leaves to return to her table before she comes to a realization, stops midway, swirls around, and says, loudly, “Hey, Madison!”

“What now?” the other girl says.

She beams at her. “You called me Zoe.”

Madison blushes and frowns and does all sort of pretty things with her face. “Well, that’s your fucking name, isn’t it?”

Zoe keeps smiling. “Thanks for the cookie.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Madison says and shoots her her bitchiest glare, the one that makes frat boys run away and never come back. Zoe admires the view for a bit more before she returns to her table and eats her free cookie. It tastes like Christmas and warmth and pretty waitresses in coffee shops who offer you free food.

That afternoon she finishes reading her courses ahead of her study schedule, and leaves around five, waving goodbye at Madison, who deliberately ignores her, as she goes.

 

**february.**

They are sitting together at Zoe’s usual spot near the counter, still wearing full winter attire, scarves, coats and mittens, waiting to entirely warm up from the cold outside. It is so freezing even walking to the coffee shop was a hardship, and not only because Nan kept whining that they could very well have worked at the campus library if Zoe wasn't such a gay mess. Right now, she is quiet, sipping hot chocolate and satisfied. She is working on yet another Psychology assignment - what the hell is up with Psych majors in this school, really, Zoe doesn't think she has ever seen Nan not having three late assignments, and that’s her freaky mind reading abilities notwithstanding. Next to her, even while doing her assigned readings in advance, Zoe feels like a slacker. Although this might also be related to how often she keeps looking at her phone.

“Just text her,” Nan says. “Or don’t, but you’re thinking too loud, it’s distracting.”

“What did we say about pretending you’re a mind reader, Nan?” Zoe asks, not looking up from her book.

“I don’t remember,” Nan lies. “Text her.”

Zoe highlights a random passage and takes great care to ignore Nan. It lasts all of two minutes before she checks her phone again (no message, obviously, because Kyle might have given Zoe his colleague's number - very unprofessionally, she might add - but Madison doesn't have _hers_ ).

“Oh my _god_ ,” Nan groans. “You _useless lesbian_. This waiter guy just hands you her phone number because he, like all of us, is sick of your gay drama, and you still somehow-”

“Alright, alright! God, Nan,” Zoe says, throwing her hands up in the air. “I’ll text her, ok?”

Sometimes she is glad her friend can see right through any of her bullshit. This is not one of these times.

“Now?” Nan asks.

Zoe huffs and hovers her thumbs over her phone. She stares at Madison’s number for a while, like it is the first time she sees it and she hasn’t been obsessively checking it out since Kyle gave it to her last Tuesday.

 _hi it’s that girl from the coffee shop_ (unsent)

 _hi remember how kyle gave me your number lmao it was SO random haha_ (unsent)

 _hi i’m_ (unsent)

 _hi_ (unsent)

 _h_ (unsent)

 _hi i’m gay_ (unsent)

 _sometimes when i see you twirling your hair in a bun i forget to breathe_ (unsent)

 _hi what conditioner do you use_ (unsent)

 _i like you, do you want to grab coffee someday?_ (unsent)

 _i like your smile when you’ve just said something mean_ (unsent)

 _i like the way you_ (unsent)

 _i like the way you destroy men’s ego_ (unsent)

 _hi i know i barely know you but i can’t stop thinking about you_ (unsent)

 _i don’t want to be too intense but i don’t think i’ve ever met someone like you_ (unsent)

_hi, wanna grab some coffee tmrw?_

She settles - types her text, hits send, puts her phone back on her table and decides to not check it until she has finished her chapter - she can totally do it, she can be chill, she can be breathy, it’s not that unrealistic, it’s - Madison texts her back immediately.

_who r u_

Zoe hesitates for a few minutes, but Madison writes again before she has a chance to answer - _r u that guy from that party_

Somehow, Zoe, who expected nothing, is still disappointed. She doesn’t even know if she should answer by then - really, it’s probably not worth it, Madison is clearly into guys that go to parties on weekdays and flirt with beautiful blonde girls and are nothing at all like girls who stay home in oversized sweaters with the name of an old rock band on them and obsess over texting heir hopeless crushes.

In the end, she sends, _???_

_u know. clown fetish guy_

She snorts. _wow. your nights are much weirder than mine. questioning your life choices rn. why does clown fetish guy have your number?_

_i don’t have to justify myself to you or anyone_

_sounds like something a clown fucker would say_

_oh my GOD_

_queenie is it u_

_r u textin me from a burner phone_

_no_

_but if i were queenie i wouldn’t tell you so_

_so i guess you have no way to know really_

Zoe hears Queenie swear and looks up just in time to see her going through her phone, muttering something about crazy white bitches before she goes back to her customer. She smiles to herself but goes back to her History homework anyway.

It is only later that night, when Zoe is back in her room, snuggled under her blanket and her roommate’s, which she commandeered for the night since the other girl is staying at her boyfriend’s anyway, that her phone lights up again. She is watching a horror movie about a nun and the blue hue of her phone screen glowing in the dark has an ominous, eerie feeling about it, making her spine crawl with uncomfortable anticipation. She pauses her movie in the middle of an action scene before she checks it out.

_so_

_u r the iced coffee nerd_

_right?_

_maybe_

_how did you guess?_

_ur the only idiot who would ask out a waitress by asking her 4 coffee_

_oh_

_shit_

_yes_

_shit_

_i’m so sorry_

_i won't bother you again_

_no_

_this wasnt a yes shit_

_it was a yes ill go drink coffee with u_

_dumbass_

 

**april.**

In hindsight, maybe some prior warning would have been nice. Even apart from telling Madison her sister was visiting, you would have thought the whole identical twins business would have shown up in a discussion one day. As it is, on a fresh April day, Zoe is outside the shop in a scarf and hopping on her feet to keep warm as she says her goodbyes and hangs up on Nan, who has another life-altering crush-related crisis. She is entering the coffee shop when the catastrophe happens.

“Hey, junkrat,” Madison says, one hand already scribbling _zoe_ on the cup.

From the doorway, Zoe looks inside and cringes.

“Uh, what?” Violet answers, blankly. Her hair is mussed the way it always is, she is wearing a faded cardigan under her boyfriend’s army jacket, and she looks as unlike her twin as she could, but she _is_ wearing one of her many scarves since Zoe practically had to force her to put on warmer clothes.

“I said hey, junkrat,” Madison says. “It’s a new insult I’m trying. I feel the current amount of insult I use is not enough to express how annoying everyone around me is. So, junkrat.”

Violet just keeps glaring at her.

Zoe loves her sister, and she really really _really_ likes Madison, which is why she knows that they are the two most dysfunctional, insulting, misanthropic persons on this campus. Possibly in America. This means they are either going to elope together or murder each other in the following minutes.

She swoops in.

“Hi Madison!” she says as brightly as she can. Madison looks from her to Violet and then again like they're the twins from _The Shining_ , or maybe a very late Christmas present. “This is my sister Violet. She is just visiting for a few days.”

“Uh,” Madison says.

“An Americano and an Iced Coffee,” Violet says. “To go. We’re not staying.”

“Uh,” Madison says, again, and turns around to start up the coffee maker mechanically.

Queenie comes up at the cash register to check them out and whistles. “Did you guys just break Madison?”

Violet shrugs, already bored, but Zoe makes a face. “She hasn’t even insulted my jacket today, and it’s from the Gap. I think she’s ill. Might be terminal.”

“Didn’t think I’d ever see the day Madison Montgomery would ever shut the fuck up,” Queenie says, appreciative. “I’m not enjoying this as much I thought I would.”

“Probably caught her whatever-it-is already,” Zoe suggested.  

Queenie snorts, hands her back her money, takes their coffees from Madison’s still hands to give the cups to them. As they leave the coffee shop, her sister doesn’t even try not to look judgemental. 

“Part of me wants to ask who that Regina George wannabe is,” Violet says. “Part of me wants to ask why she is wearing your sweater. But also, I really don’t care.”

In a few days, when they are in her dorm room with Thaï takeout and cheap sparkly wine, Violet and Madison will meet properly, bitch about Zoe’s inability to drink black coffee, swap romantic advice and generally just get along a little too well for Zoe’s comfort. But when Violet will leave the room to call back her on-and-off boyfriend to make up on the other girl's advice, Madison will lean on her girlfriend’s shoulder and smile as she kisses her.

Somehow, they end up getting it right.  

 

**june.**

College is ending soon, driving Zoe away from News Orleans again, and until then, she has been in every single corner of the coffee shop. That includes, apparently, the kitchen (one evening after Madison’s shift ended, because she hides booze under the sink. Zoe doesn't know how she wasn't fired yet), the garbage (apparently Madison is always on trash duty because she keeps insulting the clients - somehow this doesn’t surprise her girlfriend), and, as of now, the broom closet, where Madison is in the process of kissing her until she forgets her own name. She is successful.

Shelves are digging into the soft of her back, her legs intertwined with Madison’s, and she would ask for them to move it to her bedroom, but campus feels so far away right now. Her hands burrow in blonde hair and when fingers brush against her thigh she tugs sharply. Madison moans, moves against her leg, whining for more friction, more contact, _more_. Zoe moves her hand lower and lower and feels like she’s drowning - then she _touches_ her, finally - feels Madison sigh and shift and bite her shoulder when her thumb slips over her clit, above the lace of her underwear.

“Fuck you’re wet,” Zoe whispers, and Madison whimpers when she tells her to _shut up_.

When they leave the broom closet, Zoe feels dazed, and Madison moves in tired, languid motions. They wave goodbye to Queenie - who is no fool and deeply disgusted - and Misty - whose goodbyes are enthusiastic and clueless - as they exit the shop.

“So. Four months anniversary. Where am I taking you tonight?” Zoe asks.

“You haven’t even planned anything?” Madison complains. “God, why do I even keep you?”

“You say that like you ever plan anything,” Zoe says, “which is wrong.”

Madison smirks. “Yeah, but there’s this thing I do with my tongue-”

“Aaand we’re off,” Zoe says and starts walking away from her. Madison laughs as she catches up with her and grabs her hand. Zoe rolls her eyes and pretends not to smile when she looks down at their linked fingers.

“I don’t care where we’re going as long as there’s booze and you’re planning on taking off that shirt at some point.”

“This is a great shirt!” Zoe protests. “It _is!_ ”

Madison makes a face. “This is the ugliest fucking shirt I have ever seen, and for a straight up hottie, you keep dressing like a hobo from the eighties," she says, before smirking suggestively as she adds, "but tragically, that’s not even my biggest problem with this shirt.”

She blushes. As she looks away to not have to watch the winning smile on her girlfriend’s face, she says, “Alright, alcohol and no shirt. Sounds like a plan.”

“Then let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> maybe kudos and comments can be our iced coffee


End file.
